


This Fragile Heart

by eeyore9990



Series: Frail Humanity [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:09:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After weeks spent as a human, Derek has a new appreciation for things like pain and human-slow healing.  He's terrified of hurting Stiles, but he's more afraid of losing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Fragile Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This serves as a cross between an epilogue and a sequel to This Frail Humanity.

Derek watched as Melissa removed Stiles' stitches, unable to stop himself from wincing each time one was ripped from his back. Okay, maybe _ripped_ was a bit dramatic, but it just looked like one of those things that should hurt. Stiles though? Didn't even flinch.

He just continued chatting and laughing with Scott as Melissa poked and prodded at him with tweezers. There really weren't even that many stitches, but as always when it came to Stiles, time seemed to slow down and draw out for Derek. His hearing was focused on the steady rhythm of Stiles' heartbeat, the scent of Stiles—warm and peaceful—winding through his nostrils. He worried at his bottom lip when the last stitch came loose, then was at Stiles' side, one hand on his shoulder to draw out the pain. 

There wasn't even a glimmer of discomfort through the touch, but Stiles twisted to look at him anyway, the wide smile he'd been directing at Scott gentling into a softer, smaller, more intimate curve of lips for Derek. Derek's stomach tightened with emotion as his own mouth quirked upward in helpless reaction to Stiles. 

"You okay?" Derek asked softly, even though he already knew the answer.

"Yeah, dude, I'm fine. Promise." Stiles reached up and laid one hand over the top of his where it was still resting on Stiles' shoulder, awkwardly linking their fingers together as he turned back to Scott and Melissa, who had finished cleaning up—the stitches and anything else that might carry Stiles' DNA sealed up in a ziplock baggie per Stiles' instructions. "Thanks again, Mrs McCall," Stiles said, leaning backward against Derek. "You saved me a trip to the hospital."

"After what happened last time? I'm not quite ready to have any of you boys there," Melissa replied, a shadow of anger passing over her face. Shaking herself, she reached for her purse and turned to Scott, making a shooing gesture with her hands. "Come on, kid, you promised me tacos if I let you take the car tonight. Vamanos! I don't want to be late for my shift."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. Bye, Stiles! Derek," Scott called as his mother shoved him toward the door.

Derek let out a snort of laughter, watching the tiny woman manhandle the big, bad Alpha werewolf. Okay, maybe not big and bad. It was still _Scott_ , after all.

"Have a good night at work," he said to Melissa, then to Scott, "And enjoy your date!"

"Bye, Hottie-Scottie! Bye, Mrs McCall!" 

When the door closed behind the McCalls, Stiles pulled his hand free and made to put his shirt back on until Derek stopped him. "Wait a minute, let me just… Please?" He knew he wasn't making much sense, but he needed to do this, to trace his fingers over that healed wound and take a minute to be grateful for everything that had happened. And for everything that _hadn't_ happened.

Stiles lowered his arms and hunched his shoulders forward, rounding his back to provide Derek a better view. "You don't have to ask me twice if you can touch my naked body," he said in a ridiculously suggestive tone.

Derek snorted, but knelt down behind where Stiles was straddling a chair in Derek's kitchen. He touched Stiles' warm skin with shaking fingers, edging over and around the raised lump of skin. Stiles flinched a little, prompting Derek to pull back his fingers. "Am I hurting you?"

"No. It's a little ticklish, but it doesn't hurt." His voice was slightly raspy, and the sound of it curled through Derek, lighting him up inside.

"Stiles," he murmured, dropping a kiss over the scar, then trailing across to the knobs of Stiles' spine. 

A rush of breath left Stiles, and he pressed back into Derek's kisses, curving and twisting to force Derek to kiss him harder, press closer. "Derek, please," he whispered, then pulled away and stood up, yanking the chair out from between his legs as he turned and dropped to his knees in front of Derek, his palms framing Derek's face. "Please," he repeated, his slightly parted lips brushing over Derek's. 

Derek knew what Stiles was asking for, but he could feel himself pulling back, drawing away and buttoning up the want that surged through him whenever Stiles was within touching distance. It had been two weeks since he'd regained his wolf, and in all that time, the most they'd done was kiss. A little light petting that never went too far. He just… he couldn't. The memory of pain was too fresh, of slow-healing wounds, of bruises that didn't fade between one breath and the next.

He'd always known Stiles was human, but he'd never understood what that _meant_ before he'd spent time as one. Now… now it was all he could think about. The idea of hurting Stiles, even unintentionally, was a dash of cold water putting out any fire their kisses and touches could ignite.

His hand curved around Stiles' waist, then edged up his back until his fingers brushed the scar. The scar Stiles carried because of Derek. Because Derek had been too slow. 

Pulling away from the kiss, Derek let his head drop to Stiles' shoulder while he fought to get his breathing under control. Among other things. A deep breath carried to him the scent of frustration and lingering arousal. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he groaned, pressing his face into Stiles' throat and leaving gentle kisses on it. "I'm sorry."

Stiles' arms came around him and held tight while Stiles breathed deeply, shakily at first, then growing even and relaxed. Sitting back on his heels, he dropped his hands from Derek's neck and nodded. "Yeah, okay." A muscle twitched in his jaw even as he quirked his lips in a tiny smile. A smile that didn't reach eyes and shined just a touch too brightly.

Panic began to curl through Derek and he reached out, fingers gripping almost too tight to Stiles' waist. He pulled Stiles close again, pressed their foreheads together, and sighed, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so afraid…"

His body relaxing by small degrees, Stiles slumped against Derek, scraping his palms up Derek's forearms. Stiles tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Derek's mouth, and murmured, "What is it? Tell me what you're afraid of. Please?"

"I just… I can't… it's not because you're human!" Derek knew he was fucking this up as soon as the first word was out of his mouth, but Stiles deserved to know what was going on inside his head. "It's just… you're _human_ , you know?" And then he wanted to claw his own insides out because Stiles' face twisted up into something pained and horrible. "No! Not. Jesus," he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Stiles, I want you so much. I need you to know that. I want… everything with you." He sucked in a shaky breath and flexed his fingers against Stiles' waist. "But, I can't get past my own head. I could hurt you."

Stiles scoffed, and Derek cut him off with a sharp noise.

"I could. I could _hurt_ you, Stiles. And I know it now. I know how that feels. How it lingers. I can't do that to you."

Staring at him flatly, Stiles lifted his hand to Derek's mouth, covering it and stopping his words. "Okay, first of all? I am not afraid of you. Second, did it occur to you that maybe I wouldn't mind it? I mean, I'm not exactly looking for broken bones here, but feel free to shove me into walls and have your wicked way with me."

"Stiles—"

"Derek." Stiles' voice brooked no argument, but Derek knew he didn't understand.

Taking Stiles' arm into his hands, he pulled gently until it was stretched out. Rubbing his thumb over the crease, he said, "Look. I can still see where they put the needle in your arm. You were bruised here for over a week. Your back? You'll carry that scar for life. What if I forget myself? What if I—"

"Shift."

"What?" Derek blinked up at Stiles, who was kneeling up over him, his expression caught somewhere between fond, exasperated, and hard.

"I want you to shift. Go all… rwarr and fangy and stuff. Shift for me." Stiles held up his fingers in a clawing motion, and Derek couldn't hold back a startled chuckle. Such a dork.

Shrugging, he sat back, rolled the tension out of his shoulders, and allowed his beta form to take over. When he opened his eyes, Stiles was standing in front of him, one hand outstretched.

"Get up?"

Gingerly, being careful of his claws, Derek put his hand in Stiles' and allowed himself to be yanked to his feet. When he was standing, Stiles took the hand he was holding and brought it to his chest, pressing Derek's palm flat to the warm skin. He could feel Stiles' bones under it, close to the surface, could hear the blood that rushed through his veins. 

Stiles left Derek's hand there and then lifted his own hands to Derek's face, tracing over the new curves and hollows. His lips curved up into an amused smile. "You're so fucking beautiful like this, but it will never cease to amaze me how completely your eyebrows disappear."

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes, about to say something when Stiles shushed him and shook his head.

"Nope, my turn. Derek, I'm going to get hurt. A lot. It's the nature of being who I am. I can't tell you how many toes I've broken just walking into rooms. I wake up with bruises that weren't there the night before. _I don't know where they come from_." He ran his thumb over Derek's lower lip, pressing it against the tip of Derek's fang as his eyes darkened. "I am not afraid of you. What I _am_ afraid of is going the rest of my life without knowing what it's like to wake up in the morning with your fingerprints darkening on my thighs. Or the scrape of your stubble on my chest. I want to wake up exhausted. I want to limp for days."

He dropped his hand to cover Derek's on his chest and said, "I want to know that you're not going to run away because I'm human. I want to know that you want me _as I am_ in the same way that I want you _as you are_. I want you to stop being afraid of me... because I stopped being afraid of you years ago."

Derek felt his breath freeze in his lungs when Stiles shifted forward, moving in to kiss him, most likely. But in moving forward, it caused Stiles' chest to push harder against Derek's claw-tipped fingers and the points of them pressed into Stiles' skin, puckering it. He snatched his hand away immediately, but not before five tiny red dots appeared on Stiles' skin. 

Stiles looked down at his chest, surprise clear on his features. Rolling his eyes, he swiped his hand over the blood, smearing it, but also showing that the cuts were superficial at best. "See? Look. I'm fine."

But Derek wasn't really listening to him, was too caught up in staring, horrified, at his hands. In his fear of hurting Stiles, he lost control of his shift and his features smoothed back to human. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his his heart starting to pound over-loud in his ears. He felt like he could barely breathe, and there was a heavy weight on his chest that was compressing it, pressing down and down and down and all he could see and smell was the blood on his hands.

And then suddenly, Stiles took Derek's face between his hands and kissed him. It shocked Derek straight out of his head and back into the present, and he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. Stiles kept the kiss light, gentle pressure that obviously wasn't intended to develop into anything else. 

"Derek," he finally said, pulling back until their lips weren't pressed together, but not so far that he broke their embrace, "I know you're afraid of hurting me. But you have to understand that in this relationship? I'm way more concerned about _you_ getting hurt than me. I'm afraid of saying the wrong thing or triggering memories of… of your past. I'm terrified of doing anything that reminds you of all the bad shit in your life. I'm afraid that if I touch you wrong, you'll just retreat into yourself and I won't know that I've hurt you until it's all over. And at that point I'll just be another person in a long string of people who've left scars on your heart."

"You couldn't," Derek said, shaking his head, putting his hands over Stiles' where they rested on his chest. "Stiles, you're not anything like _them_ , you'd never…"

"If you trust _me_ not to hurt _you_ , then you have to let me trust you right back. Can you do that? You don't have to trust yourself, Derek. I can trust you enough for the both of us." Stiles stopped speaking, looking intently at Derek, as if waiting for a reply. 

"Stiles…" 

But Stiles wasn't finished. Wetting his lips, he lowered his gaze to Derek's chin and his voice crackled a little when he said, "If you don't want me, or if you're just not ready for—" Stiles would have said more, but his mouth was otherwise occupied with Derek's mouth. 

Again, though, the kiss was chaste, gentle. Drawing back, Derek sighed before pressing their foreheads together. "I want to. I want _you_ , but I'm still finding my footing with my new anchor and Stiles… I can't hurt you. If I hurt you, I couldn't…"

"Hey, shhh. It's okay. We can wait as long as you need to." There wasn't anything in Stiles' tone or in his expression, or in his _scent_ that indicated that he was lying or impatient. He might be impatient with the situation, but never with Derek or his needs.

And just like that, Derek knew what they could do.


End file.
